Tired
by EstelWolfe
Summary: [Nine] She finally corrals him into dealing with everything that's happened... but when your method of dealing has been notdealing for months, even old scars can bleed like fresh wounds. PostDalek. Uploaded properly.


**AN:** Well, turns out it didn't upload properly the first time. A year later, and I finally figure it out and fix it. Apologies to those who read it before.

**Tired**

He was tired.

It wasn't a new sensation. He'd felt exhaustion before, many times. Far too often during this last life, it seemed. Bone-weary-exhausted like this, though… it had been a while.

Almost a year and a half, point of fact. Since the last time he'd seen them. Since the last time he'd let fear and rage and desperation rule him.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in his room. He didn't spend a lot of time there… not much at all, if he could help it. Rose was busy showing her new pretty-boy toy around the TARDIS, though (_though she should be with him_), helping him to find a room he liked and get acclimated. There had been a few minutes when he thought he might be able to distract himself by working on his ship, but for once she seemed to be in perfect order (_or good enough_).

After all, she hadn't taken any damage during this finishing salvo. Hadn't been in the battle at all (_though she wanted to be, tried to be there with him_). Sitting there, nice and safe and protected, an immovable box, and at least his death would have kept her from both Van Statten and the Dalek if it came to that (_even if she didn't want his protection, just his presence_).

Heaven, he was tired.

Sleeping was out of the question, though. Not now, not with his body still aching and sore from Van Statten's stolen technology (_how _dare_ he, how dare he use the last of the Time Lords as a feckless child would a priceless toy_), his mind still sore and numb from trying to find them. Any of them.

They weren't there. Hadn't been there, wasn't any chance that they would suddenly be there.

He stood in front of his desk, not remembering the movement that brought him to it, hand reaching out automatically to trace the pictures taped above it, to it, around it. So many lost, that he could never touch like that to begin with. The only one he'd had that connection with was Romana, but the woman he'd known was long gone, long changed by the time he returned to Gallifrey for the War.

He'd told her to stay away. Told all of them to stay away. So many 'No Trespassing' signs, when it wasn't even really trespassing. Below-low-level, Gallifreyan telepathy was. Just a touch, a brush. An opportunity to see that you weren't alone, to see perhaps a hint of emotion, of agreement or dissent.

He'd give anything to have it, now (_almost anything, and they were so close, so similar, that a Gallifreyan could sometimes touch them, if they didn't fight_). Just a moment of comfort, of fellow-feeling. A moment when they weren't screaming, so many of them screaming, and it was too much for any barrier, a little multiplied by a multitude. So scared, his people, so very scared to die, but he hadn't left them a choice.

(_He'd done what was necessary, what was right._)

"Don't."

(_He couldn't do this to himself, not again. They couldn't go through this again._)

"Don't!" His hand suddenly drew his attention, pain welling up in increasing waves. He'd slammed it down on the desk, repeatedly, so hard that a bruise was already forming.

It'd been a long time since he'd done that without thinking.

Almost as long as it'd been since he'd been this tired.

(_Rest, Time Lord. Please rest._)

He couldn't. He needed it, needed to at least lie down for a few minutes, give his cursed-blessed Gallifreyan biology a chance to get to work and heal whatever physical damage had been done, but that would lead to thinking. Would lead to trying, just once more, and it always hurt so much, when there was no answering echo.

(_She could help with it, help with him. She could make him rest easy._)

"Don't!" He actually shouted the world, slamming his hand hard against the wall to emphasize the point. The hand was purposeful this time. The pacing that had brought him to the other side of the room hadn't been.

(_Please, please don't hurt again like that._)

"Stay away from me." His words were a low growl, and he crossed his hands over his chest as he spoke. It didn't have the desired effect, and he knew it. What he intended to be intimidating and reassuring both was being turned into a child's frightened huddle by a stance and shivering that he didn't seem able to control.

A brief laugh escaped. All this time, and it was only now, only when he finally won, that he started to lose his mind.

(_He was her pilot, her Companion. She couldn't stay away, not when he was hurting_.)

"I don't care. Stay away." It was for her own good, really. He couldn't trust himself right now, didn't know what being inside his head would do to her, didn't know what it was doing to him, and she was Rose's insurance. No matter what happened to him, she would take Rose home.

(_Rose wanted to be with him._)

"Why?" His voice almost broke over the word, the shudders coursing through his already-weary frame intensifying. "Why would she? Does she? I _killed_ her."

(_To save a world._)

"I killed them to save a universe." He was laughing, crying, and his chest ached, deeply, frighteningly. "They still screamed."

(_They were scared, hurting, not angry._)

"What would you know?" The words were venom, poison as he attempted to shove the other presence from his mind. "You shouldn't even know what emotion _is_."

(_She was learning, had been learning, for a long time, for him, and she wanted him better. She wanted her Time Lord safe._)

"Please." He was whispering, almost whimpering, voice so low and unrecognizable it felt disconnected from his mind, but the presence would know what he meant. She always knew what he meant. The shivering became too much for his exhausted body to handle, and he sank down at the foot of the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Please, just leave me alone."

He waited for the answering touch, the wordless singing that he had become adept at interpreting in the days following the Time War.

It never came.

Allowing his head to fall forward onto his knees, the trembling increasing to the point of painfulness, he felt the first tears come.

"This place… this place is just so absolutely bloody _fantastic_…"

"I think you said that already." Rose couldn't help a tired grin as Adam enthusiastically poked around the TARDIS's kitchen. His curiosity seemed to have long over-ridden high gear, and if he were to smile any wider his face would have no other option than to literally split in two. It was exhilarating to watch him, to actually be able to answer rather than just ask questions, but on top of everything else today…

"The advances science could make with just _five minutes_ with this guy, just five minutes—"

"The Doctor doesn't go in much for shop talk. Much more interested in culture for his companions. Says it's less likely to screw up the space-time continuum." Rose suppressed a yawn, sinking into one of the chairs at the small breakfast table and resting her head on her folded hands.

Oh, yes, today. Such a long, long day. Her legs hurt from running. Her heart hurt every time she thought of all the people she had passed during her mad, desperate, pointless flight from the Dalek. So many people, some of them soldiers, some of them in lab coats, all of them standing fast while she ran for her life.

As frightening as it was when she thought about it, she was beginning to get used to death. Clive had been more right with his conspiracy theories than he knew. It was getting easier to forget individual faces, to sort the dead into one heartfelt but meaningless 'sorry' pile. Harriet Jones had slapped her in the face with it, last time she was home, and she had just shrugged it off. After all, it wasn't like they could say it was her fault.

These _she_ had killed, though. Through ignorance, certainly, but still by her hand. Literally. Was this how the Doctor felt, every time? Was this why he always ran after an adventure and never seemed to sleep? (_Why he felt so terribly close to breaking in her arms earlier?_)

She realized belatedly that Adam was trying to hold a conversation with the top of her head.

"—just explain the basics? Please?" A pleading look was on his face, but she could see the hurt puppy look lurking behind it, ready for immediate deployment.

She was saved from stumbling through another exhausted reply by a dimming of the lights and a sudden, convulsive shuddering motion that enveloped the entire TARDIS for another contestant in the longest-thirty-seconds-of-her-life contest.

"What was that?" Fear dripped from every inch of Adam's voice and body, his hands locked in a death-grip on the counter.

Rose couldn't blame him. Her own grip on her seat at the moment was less than relaxed.

"I'm sure it was nothin'." She had never been less sure of anything in her life, but she was the old hand at this. It was her job to keep him from panicking, even if she wanted to run screaming to the Doctor. "I'll go scare up our pilot, ask what he's doing to the old girl and when we'll be off to an actual destination."

"I'll come with you." The young man's voice mixed gallantry and a fear of being left alone quite well, possibly because he made no pretense of trying to cloak one with the other.

"No!" She hadn't meant to shout, but an overpowering feeling of dread rose at the thought of Adam accompanying her. "No. You go ahead and poke around some more, maybe take a nap, grab a book from the library. I'll be back quick as I can be."

Not giving him a chance to protest or even comment, she darted out the door and to the left. She had no real idea where to find the Doctor, as he hadn't been in the control room earlier, but it didn't seem to matter. Her feet led her determinedly further into the ship, down old wood-paneled corridors she had never seen before.

The urgent need to keep moving finally faded, leaving her standing in front of an old door, the wood-work scratched and burned, the handle well worn, though by time or use she couldn't tell. Probably time, given the dust on the floor beneath.

"Doctor?"

He didn't answer, but the door was open a crack, and the earlier imperative to move returned with a slamming force. Before she knew what she was doing the door was wide open and she was inside.

It was a small room, sparsely furnished for the most part, though the bookshelf in the far corner was probably breaking some law of physics by containing the amount of paper it did. Pictures, portraits and papers also coated the desk tucked into the corner at her right hand. The bed stood apart and alone on the other side of the room, pristine, sheets and blanket giving the impression that they had never been touched, let alone slept in.

The figure at the foot of the bed caught her eyes on a second pass, held her attention like only a nightmare could. He was curled in on himself like a frightened child, shivers and quiet sobs causing his body to shake near-convulsively.

Her first instinct was to run to him, to hold him close to her again and maybe give him the strength to hide that terrible hurt, to lie to him that everything was all right.

Her second, purely human, survival instinct was to run from the broken godling.

She compromised by standing still.

"Doctor?"

His head rose slowly, eyes tracking randomly across the room for a moment before finding and focusing on her.

"Rose?"

"Yeah." She rocked uneasily on her feet, hands fumbling together, falling apart behind her back. "The TARDIS was acting funny, funnier than usual, and I thought, with everything that's happened… are you all right?"

"I think I'm losing my mind." He grinned as he spoke, but the expression was devoid of emotion, and she lost eye contact.

"Is there something I can do to help?" Unconsciously she took a step towards him, hands coming around to her front, twitching forward. Fear (_for her life_) didn't stand a chance next to her concern (_fear_) for him as stronger tremors wracked his body. "Were you hurt, while the Dalek was out?"

"I keep trying, you know?" Usually expressive eyes vacant, he addressed a point about three feet to her right. "Because Rose was right. If a Dalek survived, then maybe… but no. Nothing. Just cold and empty. So empty but for the memories. Romana. Sarah Jane. The Brigadier. Ace. Aiden. Tegan. Turlough. Susan."

The last name was barely a whisper as his voice faded, though his lips continued to move, silently naming others that she didn't know.

"All dead or left behind. Always by me." The sheer self-condemnation in the words as his voice rose to an audible level again was staggering.

"I'm sure you had a reason." Rose felt her voice falter, because those were the wrong words, but her heart was breaking for him while her mind raced to worst-case scenarios, and she couldn't find the right ones.

"Reason. Reason makes me leave them behind, reason makes me let them die, but it doesn't stop me from taking more." His head dropped again, resting on leather-clad arms. "Doesn't stop me from looking. Doesn't stop me from yelling at her because she's frightened for me and doesn't know how to fix it."

"Doctor, how can I help you?" Taking the steps slowly, hating the part of her mind that said she should get Adam as back-up because he was obviously irrational, talking about her in the third person while she was present, she reached out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. "This is some kind of shock, right? Like, telepathic shock… or lack-of-telepathic shock… Whatever, how can I help you? Do you have some kind of medicine? Do you need a blanket or… or a warm bath… God, you're shakin' so bad… Tea? Tea's good for calming down, and warm, too."

She was rambling, and she could hear the desperation and almost-sob in her own voice.

"Please, Doctor, tell me how to help."

(_She could be his anchor, give him a second point to moor to._)

Rose shook her head, a faint snatch of song and a word lingering in her mind. "Anchor?"

"No." His reaction was instantaneous, a tightening of his entire body, a re-focusing of his eyes on her. "No, Rose. I could hurt you. Your people aren't designed for telepathy. You don't know what you're saying."

"Seeing you like this is hurting me." She caught both his hands in hers, the cold skin and tremors only adding to her fear, her determination to do whatever she could. "Let me help you."

"I tried to kill you." The words were a desperate, lost whisper.

"You tried to save the world. It was what I _wanted_." Increasing the pressure on his hands until it must be almost painful, she forced him to continue to look at her. "What I'll always want, always give you if it's a choice of me or a world. Now for God's sake, let me help you."

She was crying now, could feel the tears on her cheeks as he continued to stare at her, expression a rictus of pain, confusion, desperation, but at least he was looking at her. At least he was interacting with her.

She didn't feel his touch, but she could see when he finally let go. His eyes drifted closed, shivers easing to a point where they didn't look physically damaging. A return pressure to her grip appeared, and she laughed, pleased beyond all reasoning when an answering smile flickered across his face.

Slowly, wary that he might react badly, might perceive it as some sort of play while he was vulnerable, she eased herself into a sitting position at the foot of the bed and pulled him down until his head was resting on her shoulder.

"Doctor?" Freeing one of her hands, she tried to brush her hair out of the way so she could see his profile.

"Thank you." The whispered words echoed in her mind, imbuing themselves with a truth that could only be a result of… whatever he was doing. "And I'm sorry. I've no excuse for falling apart on you like that. Scaring you."

His hand reached up, touched her cheek, her hair, the contact feather-light, barely noticeable.

"'s all right. Everyone needs a good cry once in a while." She felt her own grin grow, fed on giddy relief as he smiled. The smile faded slowly as his breathing evened out, became slower, deeper. "You've got to be exhausted. I know I am, so I should probably—"

"Please stay." The words were rational enough, quiet enough, and there was no desperation in his profile, but she could feel it, a fear, a pulling-back and bunching up of a presence just barely on the edge of her awareness.

"All right." She allowed her free hand to run through his close-cropped hair, occasionally humming a snatch of song that found its way into her mind. The Doctor didn't seem to mind, a rare contentment radiating from his face despite the awkward position he was sitting in.

(_The Time Lord was finally taking time to heal._)

"You don't have to take responsibility for all of it, you know. Whatever happened, whatever you did, you've done, you've more than paid the price for it." She spoke in a whisper, fairly certain he was asleep or as close to it as his people came and not wanting to wake him. "Let go. Move on. Even my mum knows not to pick at scabs 'less you want it infected."

(_Heal, Time Lord. Truly heal, Doctor._)

The man didn't respond at all, and she contemplated kissing the top of his head for a moment. That _would_ be too much like taking advantage of him, though. He trusted her. He needed her there for support at the moment. Anything else could wait for another time, when she was more sure of what she wanted… beyond the fact that she wanted the Time Lord safe and sound, in body and in mind.

(_He'll be all right now. We'll be all right now._)

"Everything's all right for now, Doctor." She allowed her head to lean against his, her eyes to close slowly, basking in a sense of peace and belonging that far too often seemed to be missing from their lives. "Everything's all right."

And if Adam wandered by sometime later, alone in an alien place, and found only a locked door, solid wood with just the faintest of scars… if he thought about knocking, only to be rebuffed by a furious sense of protectiveness, almost possessiveness…

If he did, he never mentioned it in the morning.


End file.
